


in the short summer night

by dorypop



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Ableist Language, Alternate Universe - Beach, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Artist Ronan Lynch, Background Jordan/Declan, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Lifeguard Adam Parrish, M/M, Meet-Cute, POV Ronan Lynch, Physical Therapist Noah Czerny, Physical Therapy, Pining, Pre-Relationship, Recovering Alcoholic Ronan Lynch, Self-Esteem Issues, Wheelchair User Ronan Lynch, past abusive relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:35:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26318794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dorypop/pseuds/dorypop
Summary: “Oh, hey there,” someone said to his right.Ronan turned, and blinked. There he was, smelling like the sea, the gorgeous lifeguard from this morning, with the setting sun bringing up pink hues to his golden skin.The traffic light turned green.“Hi,” Ronan said. “Adam, right?” he added, conveniently remembering his name.Adam laughed, lighting up his whole face. Ronan was going to melt.(Ronan’s doing physical therapy at the beach, Adam works as a lifeguard.)
Relationships: Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish
Comments: 35
Kudos: 213





	in the short summer night

“C’mon, Ronan. Five more steps, and we’re done for the day.” Noah was lucky Ronan liked him—had it been any other person—except from, perhaps, Matthew—goading him to fight _against the fucking elements_ , he’d have already planted his feet with as much firmness he could manage—which, okay, was not much at the moment, but he’d make sure the other person understood the sentiment—and refused to walk a single step more.

Ronan gritted his teeth. Noah tightened his grip on Ronan’s arms.

Ronan took a step.

“Fuck.” As it was, Noah never lost his patience. He’d already put up with Ronan’s hunger strike from two weeks ago—it’d lasted a total of seventeen hours, but it’d been worth it to see the pinched look on Declan’s face—, and with his mood swings when his pain medication had been altered. He also consented to sit by Ronan when he was having a bad day, to just look at his bedroom window in silence.

Another step, and he closed his eyes. Noah understood he needed a break, so he let him rest for about two seconds.

“C’mon, be a champ.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Ronan said, but took another step.

The thing was—his legs were punishing him. Rightfully so, maybe. He’d fucked them up, after all. He’d raced while pissed, and flipped his car over, and been in a coma for three full days. He’d woken up—his legs hadn’t got the memo.

Five months later, and he was still stuck in here, unable to walk more than thirty fucking steps without collapsing from the effort. His record was in thirty-six. But that had been once, and he’d been unable to move from bed when he was back at his room for the rest of the day, so they were not pushing it again.

“Only two to go!”

He couldn’t do it. It was just too much—the water was supposed to help, because the salt made him less heavy or something, but it also dragged him down. It _weighed_ on him, making every step a herculean effort.

He’d played tennis, back in high school. He’d been able to _jump_ , for fuck sake. Now he couldn’t walk two fucking more steps.

He tried one last time. He raised his left foot, and could almost feel the sand grains being sent away at the movement. His knee protested, but he paid it no mind. Noah’s eyes were encouraging, shadowed by the bill of his cap.

His right leg decided just then it’d done enough supporting him for the day and gave up on him.

Noah’s strong arms caught him, preventing a sinking that would have been no fun for everyone.

Ronan held onto him as he regained his breath.

“Okay. Not bad. That’s fine—we did twenty-eight today. It’s good.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Noah.”

Noah’s laugh got somehow lost in the rising sun’s reflection in the water.

“There’s ice cream for dessert today,” he reminded Ronan, as if that could make up for the rest of it.

One of Noah’s arms came to rest under Ronan’s knees and he carried him out of the water and into his wheelchair.

Three guys around their age came running into the water, carrying surf boards, as Ronan and Noah were toweling themselves.

“Oh, great, you’re leaving, right?” one of them said. “We wouldn’t want to run over you.”

“Oh, don’t worry, we’re just about done for today,” Noah said, before Ronan could open his mouth.

“Why they allow these people to share our water, I will never understand,” another one said, pinching his mouth as he eyed Ronan’s useless legs.

“Excuse me?” Ronan asked, supporting his weight on the armrests of his chair, as if he could get up and punch the idiot’s laugh away.

“Are you deaf, too, as well as a cripple?” And there came the third one. Just fucking great.

Ronan snarled. “You cocksuckers must think yourselves so funny, uh?”

“What did you just say?” The first one came closer, and Noah put himself between Ronan and them.

“Good morning,” someone else said. Ronan turned to spread yet more venom into the world, because _that_ he had plenty of, only to be blinded by the sight of the most _beautiful_ lifeguard ever to set foot on a beach—sun-kissed skin hidden away by a pristine white shirt, two perfectly-working legs coming from under coral-red shorts. “Hello,” he said, standing a bit closer to Ronan, which was great because it allowed him to admire from below his piercing blue eyes when he lifted his sunglasses and perched them atop his sandy hair, to fix a glare to the surfers. “Excuse me, but you boys can’t surf in here.”

“What? Look, we’re minding our own business, and the waves are great today, so we’re just gonna—”

“Sorry, but you can’t surf in here,” the lifeguard repeated. “See those buoys over there? You can catch waves in there just fine, if you want. But this section of the beach is for swimming only.”

“Now that’s not—”

“So I’m gonna ask you to leave now.”

“Everything good in here?” A girl with giant sunglasses and a halo of natural hair—presumably also a lifeguard, considering her matching outfit—came strolling to stand next to the first, pretty one.

“Jordan, hey. Yes. These boys didn’t know they couldn’t surf in here. They’re informed now,” he said, and _smiled_ at the surfers until they huffed and started walking towards the buoys.

Noah laughed as he shook his wet hair off.

“Thanks for that.”

“That’s what we’re here for!” the girl said, flashing a smile suited for toothpaste ads, as if she’d done _something_ apart from just standing there.

Ronan wanted to tell her that, and also remind her that her presence was not needed—they had a perfectly lovely lifeguard already there to make small talk to, thank you, now if she’d just _leave_ maybe Ronan could gather his guts to say something clever. But Ronan had promised Noah he’d be on his best behavior that week, and he’d already wasted his fight points on Monday when he’d argued with other patients at the cafeteria—three old frumps who’d been looking at his tattoo, and making a face that suggested they didn’t like what they saw, so Ronan had _only_ asked them why they were still looking. And also called them some names, but Noah and he had tacitly agreed not to talk about that.

So he didn’t tell that Jordan girl to fuck off, but he also didn’t have time to think about something smooth to say to her handsome colleague, because he ran away without saying goodbye.

“Adam?” the girl called after him. Look at that—she _could_ be useful. Adam was a charming name—Ronan was sure that’s what his mom would’ve told him, had she been conscious to listen to Ronan talk about the pretty boy he’d just met.

Or not met, because he hadn’t managed to spurt a single word to him.

“These assholes with the dogs are back!” Adam called, still running towards the closest beach entrance, where in fact there were several people with at least five dogs.

“Shit. Better go help him. See ya!” Jordan said, and smiled apologetically to Noah and him. Ronan grunted, but Noah took the time to _wave_ as she trotted to where Adam was probably _smiling_ at the dog people.

“They were super nice,” Noah said, which Ronan of course had already known. He grunted again, as Noah started pushing his chair. “Was she British? She sounded British. I just love British accents, don’t you?”

“Don’t give a shit,” Ronan said, because he hadn’t been able to place Adam’s accent, but it surely wasn’t British.

* * *

Declan had always been a pain in Ronan’s ass, but since the accident he’d upped his game. He’d rented an apartment a street over from Ronan’s clinic and spent his days on the phone complaining because working from there wasn’t really working for him— _and_ he insisted Ronan and him had dinner together _every fucking day_. Which, okay, Ronan could understand—he’d freaked him out when he’d been in the coma. That’s why he didn’t protest _much_ when Declan had suggested the clinic by the sea. But. _But_. He was _fine_ now. Declan could relax. He could go pester Matthew for a bit. He could let Ronan _breathe_.

So. He was picking him up at their usual spot. Like _every fucking evening_ since Ronan had started drawing outside. _Yet_ he still felt the need to remind Ronan. By _calling_ him non-stop until Ronan picked up.

Ronan was very tempted to throw his phone to the ocean.

He glared at the traffic light by the zebra crossing. It did nothing to make the green light come faster.

“Oh, hey there,” someone said to his right.

Ronan turned, and blinked. There he was, smelling like the sea, the gorgeous lifeguard from this morning, with the setting sun bringing up pink hues to his golden skin.

The traffic light turned green.

“Hi,” Ronan said. “Adam, right?” he added, conveniently remembering his name.

Adam laughed, lighting up his whole face. Ronan was going to melt.

“Yeah, that’s me. Are you crossing?” He nodded to the road. Ronan eyed the angry driver waiting for them to make their minds, and decided he _did_ want to cross, so he did, Adam walking by his side.

“Thanks,” Ronan said, when they were safely on the other side. “For this morning,” he specified.

“Oh, that’s nothing. They were being assholes,” Adam shrugged. “Do you live around here?”

“No, um. I’m headed for the docks.”

Adam’s eyebrows shot up.

“Oh, you got a ship, or something?”

“No, no. Duh. I’m going there to sketch. Boats and shit. You know.”

“What, really? Are you an artist?”

“Uh,” Ronan eloquently answered. “Shit, sorry. I’m Ronan, didn’t say that before, did I?”

Adam smiled.

“Nice to meet you. Care for some company?” He started walking, and Ronan rushed to follow.

“Uh? Aren’t you sick of looking at the fucking ocean all day long? Because, you know, you’re a _lifeguard_?”

Adam hummed. “I guess. I could look at you instead?”

Ronan stopped pushing his chair.

“What?” He could feel his ears getting all red.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to watch you drawing? I’ve got nothing better to do—my roommate’s out having drinks with some coworkers, so—”

Ronan cleared his throat, hoping Adam would interpret his furious blushing as an optical illusion provoked by the sunset light.

“Where were you headed?” Ronan started moving again.

“Would you like me to push?” Adam offered, making Ronan pause once more.

“Okay,” he said. He couldn’t see Adam anymore when he came behind his chair, but it allowed him to chew his armbands freely.

“I was just getting back home. I live two blocks from that crossing, actually. Just finished my shift at the beach. Where to? Left or right?”

They were already at the docks. There were more sailboats on the right side.

“Right,” Ronan said. Adam complied. “Here is fine,” he said, when they got to a place where the setting sun didn’t blind him. He took his sketchbook out from his bag.

“Wow. Those are really good!” Adam said, peering from over his shoulder as Ronan flipped in search of a blank page.

“Uh. Thanks.”

“Have you been drawing for long?”

“No, I—” Ronan wasn’t about to frighten this sweet boy by telling him how fucked up he’d been after he’d dropped out from high school. He started drafting straight, vertical lines to outline the boats’ masts. “Only a few months. Since I started living here, really.”

“So you’re not from around here?”

“Nah.” Ronan’s chest constricted when he thought of the fields and the barns, the fence-mending with his dad and the pie-baking with his mom. He took a deep breath that smelt like fish, and nothing like his home. “I grew up in a farm. In Virginia.”

Adam was quiet, so Ronan turned to look at him. His quick eyes were fixed on a couple of seagulls that flew by the boats.

“You?” Ronan asked.

Adam blinked, and he was smiling again when he looked down at Ronan. For some reason, it made Ronan’s pencil pause before reaching the paper.

“I live in Massachusetts during the school year. Only here for the summer,” Adam said.

“A fan of _Baywatch_ or something?” Ronan was trying to lighten a mood he didn’t know how had been darkened.

“Uh. It’s really not as fancy. Today’s highlight was a woman in a sunhat who came with a cut on her leg from a broken bottle. And, of course, telling off those surfer assholes.”

Ronan smirked and went back to his drawing.

“So you’re just saving up for school, or what?”

“Kinda, yes. The dorms were closed during the summer, and my friend Gillian—that’s my roommate—got an internship here so I agreed to come with her to share a flat. Found a job at the fish market, and then the lifeguard thing was almost an afterthought. But it’s nice. Keeps me busy during the day, when Gillian’s working.”

Ronan nodded, and kept drawing sails and water, as Adam told him bits and pieces of his life on a swimsuit.

He’d originally retaken drawing because one of his therapists had suggested he tried some hobbies to bring his anxiety down. So he’d bought some pencils and found he liked the light at twilight, and started coming down every evening to let another day of his fucked up life come to an end.

It sometimes worked.

He realized, when the sun finally touched the horizon and filled everything with pink, that it was the most pleasant evening he’d had in a while. Even if he _was_ still nervous, because who wouldn’t when a handsome lifeguard kept chatting your ear off about how he toned those muscles you could guess under his shirt by hauling boxes in the early morning hours.

Adam was already looking at him when he closed his sketchbook.

“I should probably go,” Ronan said.

Adam’s blue eyes smiled when his mouth did. “Did I distract you a lot?”

Ronan nodded, affecting seriousness.

“Sure did. Must think about how you’ll make it up for me.”

Adam stretched his arms and turned his back to the sea.

“Sure. Wanna come to mine? I’ll probably have something to fix a decent dinner.”

Ronan was probably projecting, but he thought he saw something like hope in the way Adam’s body curved with the casual invitation.

“Sorry,” he rasped. “Can’t. My brother insists we have dinner together _every single fucking night._ ” Fuck Declan, really.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. He thinks I’m not to be trusted to my own devices. Because, well—” Ronan’s hands gestured in the vague direction of his legs, only for him to realize he hadn’t told Adam about _that_ just yet. Well, fuck, he’d only just met the guy—it wouldn’t do to scare him off _on_ _their very first date._ Not that they agreed it was a date. Adam was probably just this nice with everyone. It surely was a lifeguard thing—pushing wheelchairs around and saving people from drowning.

“Okay, then.” Just like that. No weird questions, no suspicious glances.

“He’s picking me up from here, actually,” Ronan said. It sounded a bit like a goodbye. He didn’t really want it to be a goodbye, but he also wasn’t entirely sure he wanted Adam to be here still when Declan arrived. Not that they were doing anything wrong—Ronan was pretty sure somewhere along the way Declan had insisted _several times_ on him finding new, healthier friends and all that shit. He was _allowed_ to talk to people.

He just didn’t want Declan to ruin this. He could perfectly do that on his own, thank you very much, without his brother’s handshakes getting in the way.

Not that there was anything to get in the way of. Whatever.

“Thanks for letting me tag along,” Adam said, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “See you tomorrow, then?” And he waited for Ronan’s nod before he turned around and left, on a light jog that had him disappearing over the corner far too early.

* * *

Ronan had taken Adam’s parting words as an assurance that he’d also be covering the part of the beach in which Noah tortured him the following morning—which he had, and of course there was _waving_ when they’d arrived, not only from Adam but also from Jordan-I’m-also-your-friend-now, and _that_ brought along some giggles from Noah, as well as thirty-two steps from which the last four were pure spite on Ronan’s part—, but apparently Adam had meant he’d be there also _in the evening_. He was waiting for him at the same zebra crossing when Ronan arrived.

“Hi there,” Adam said, with a smile. “Mind if I watch you a bit more today?”

“Are you stalking me now?”

Adam laughed. Ronan promptly blushed. “Sure.”

“Gillian out again?” Ronan asked, but didn’t protest when Adam started pushing his chair.

“Actually, no. She asked if I wanted to go bowling, but told her I had plans. Unless you’d like to go bowling?”

Ronan snorted. Adam asked about Declan, Ronan chickened out and told him about Matthew instead.

It went like that for a few more days—even though Adam wasn’t always there in the morning, he inevitably came to the zebra crossing in the evenings, and they talked while Ronan drew. If he brought frozen yogurt for both of them—it’d happened twice already—, there was less drawing and more eating. Once, Adam only came to say he couldn’t actually stay for the drawing part, because some other friend from college was in town and they’d promised to go out with him. Ronan eventually told him about his accident, and his therapy.

Adam congratulated him the day he reached thirty-eight steps in the freezing ocean. Ronan laughed when Adam told him he’d got _sunburnt_ on his shoulders, which were normally protected by his shirt.

“Do you get fired if you sunburn? Like, isn’t it a job requirement to be already at your maximum tan capacity on the very first day of summer?”

“Ha, ha.” Adam swatted him on the shoulder. “I should have worn sunscreen, though.”

Ronan nodded. “It’s fucking disgusting, though. All sticky.”

Adam side-eyed him. “How was your day, then?”

Ronan shrugged. “We tried crutches after massage hour. Didn’t work that well.”

Adam pursed his lips but didn’t press the subject, asking about Matthew’s summer-long road trip instead.

It was nice.

Ronan bought a different sketchbook to keep in his room at the clinic, exclusively to draw Adam’s freckles and hands from memory. He also bought watercolors, because he remembered going to the fields to paint, with a brush and a little jar full of water, while his mom collected eggs.

Adam’s eyes were rounded with curiosity when Ronan took out his brand-new assortment of brushes.

“Wanna give it a try?” he offered, seeing as he had plenty of sketches that could use some color.

Adam’s springy hand flinched away from where it had been hovering over the too-tidy watercolor box.

“Oh, no, no. I’d make a mess of it.”

Ronan smirked, and offered a brush.

“That’s the fucking point.” Adam took the brush. The poor guy had no ability to match hues whatsoever, and a really irritating aversion to color outside the lines, but Ronan was going to hang the final product on his wall. When he was released from the clinic, and figured out where he was gonna live, and had walls to hang shit on, that was.

So. Anyway. He told Gansey on the phone he’d made a new friend. And then immediately steered the conversation towards Gansey’s new girlfriend, who was an activist for the forests or some shit. The conversation ended when Gansey asked when Ronan would be ready for him to visit, because Ronan hung up. There, he could tell his therapist he’d fulfilled his task of _sharing something private with someone from his support system_ this week.

He was in a bad mood that night when he met Declan for dinner. Declan of course didn’t get the hint when Ronan grunted instead of saying hello, and started asking about his progress in therapy straight away. He didn’t think it was even possible, but Ronan’s evening took a turn _for the worse_ when his brother cleared his throat and informed him that he had met _someone_ and was apparently thinking about inviting her to _their_ dinners the following night.

“No fucking way.”

“Why can’t you be _civil_ for an hour? It’s all I’m asking, Ronan.” Declan made a show of cleaning his lips with his napkin before digging in the sirloin.

“Don’t give a fucking shit. You want to date her, _you_ have dinner with her. Whatever. Actually, _that’s_ a great idea. Leave me out of it, and let me enjoy a night in fucking peace.”

“Ronan, we _agreed_ that we would both make an effort.”

Ronan was not allowed wine or beer, not even with meals, so he took a sip from his plain water. It did not help.

“I won’t be alone. I’ll go over a friends’ house. It’s fine,” he said, and kept drinking until his glass was empty.

Declan’s eyes narrowed.

“And who’s that _friend_ of yours, whom you’ve never mentioned before?”

Ronan took a piece of broccoli, hoping Declan’s interest would fade while he chewed. It didn’t work—Declan was annoying like that—, but it provided an excuse for Ronan to think about an answer that would end with him with a Declan-free night.

It wasn’t enough time, after all, so he just looked his brother in the eye and told him the truth.

“I’m actually hoping it’ll turn into something more,” he said. Declan arched an eyebrow, but didn’t open his mouth, so Ronan pushed himself to continue. “His name’s Adam. I met him at the beach. I—like him,” he muttered.

Declan’s glass didn’t have alcohol in it either, because of some solidarity thing that they’d recommended in Ronan’s therapy. Ronan wanted to steal a sip either way.

It was a full minute before Declan said something.

“If it becomes something more,” he said, eventually, enunciating slowly, “I’d very much like to meet him.”

Ronan swallowed, but he hadn’t been eating anything at the moment. He nodded. They dined in silence until Declan brought up that Matthew had mentioned he was thinking about taking up pottery painting.

When Declan dropped him off at the clinic, they agreed to go dating _separately_ the following night.

Now, he just had to ask Adam out.

* * *

Noah was a little shit, and also perceptive as fuck, which did not help Ronan in the slightest as he tried to find a smooth way to ask Adam to have dinner together or something, while _also_ trying not to freeze to death during his exercises in the ocean.

“You look off today,” Noah commented, when they took a break at twenty steps, as if they were enjoying a cocktail on a deckchair by the swimming pool or something. “Something happened?”

“Fuck off.”

“Is it because Adam’s not here yet? Don’t worry, Jordan told me he’s got a shift this morning. He’s just probably somewhere else in the beach, telling off people and stuff. But he’ll come say hello.”

Ronan wanted to flip Noah off and maybe storm away right after, but he was actually leaning on him for support and Noah was smiling a little and not in a teasingly way, so Ronan just bit his lip.

“Hypothetically,” he said, in part because if he distracted Noah maybe he’d forget they still had like five thousand sets of steps to complete before they were allowed out of the water, “if you wanted to ask someone out, how would you go about it?”

“Hypothetically.”

“That’s what I said.”

Noah hummed and tilted his head. “Well,” he began. “If that person—because we’re talking about a person, right? Not an alien. Or a dog?”

“Noah. Focus.”

“Yeah, that would be weird,” Noah chuckled. “So. If I were to meet that _person_ , let’s say, every morning. Does that work in your hypothetical situation? Like, you don’t have any previous engagements in the mornings, right? Like, therapy sessions by the sea, or a _job_ , or anything.” Noah’s eyebrows did a funny thing just then, and Ronan would have gladly pushed him out of a window. If, of course, they’d been in a building. With windows. And in the first floor—he actually didn’t want to kill Noah.

“Fuck, Noah.”

“Yes, I thought so. Well. If I met that person every morning, I would try to talk to them. Like, one random day. You can just say hello, what a lovely morning we have today, would you want to come grab a pizza or something later? Adam will say yes—he looks like a guy who likes pizza. Hey. Do you think he likes _pineapple_ in his pizza? That’s a thing, right?”

“ _Noah_. We’re not talking about Adam here. It was hypothetical, remember?”

“Right. Let’s get back to our thing, then,” Noah said. Because of course Ronan had managed to find the one physical therapist he didn’t hate who also took his job seriously.

So they did ten more steps. And then five more. And then Noah suggested Ronan could try to swim a little, because it would be profitable for his motor system, and that’s when Ronan clung to Noah’s shoulders and refused to let go, because he was panting and having a mild life crisis, and also because he had seen a red motorboat getting closer and he wanted to check who was driving it.

“If we leave this now you’ll owe me fifteen extra minutes of gym this afternoon,” Noah said, but he had also seen the inflatable boat that was slowly coming at a stop as it neared the sand. He giggled, and helped Ronan out of the water. “Yeah, let’s get you nice and dry for your hot date.”

“The fuck you’re talking about. That’s not happening. Who said it was?” He threw his wet towel at Noah, but it failed to wipe out his smirk.

“Oh, hello, Adam!” Noah said, enthusiastically, waving at someone behind Ronan’s wheelchair before throwing the towel back. “We were just talking about you.” It was entirely possible Noah was just fucking with him, so Ronan fought his sudden urge to turn around.

“You were?” That was Adam’s voice alright. Ronan felt his ears go warm.

“Were wondering why you hadn’t come to say hi!”

Adam finally entered Ronan’s vision field, and Ronan almost wished he hadn’t—he was wearing his usual red shorts, but his white shirt was gone, replaced by a lifejacket, whose straps he was presently untying. He probably did that a lot, judging by the dexterity of those fingers.

Ronan swallowed.

“Oh, yes. I just came from patrolling,” Adam said, and smiled. “Why, did you guys want to talk to me or something?”

“Yeah, I think Ronan did,” Noah said, and then winked in Ronan’s direction. Ronan glared at him, but Noah must have undergone several sessions of heavy exposure to Ronan’s glares, because he kept smirking even when he turned to look at the ocean. “You know what? I’ll leave you boys to talk while I take a proper bath, without dead weight dragging me down.” He threw his own towel into Ronan’s lap and screamed like a madman while running back towards the shoreline, where he dived headfirst.

Ronan sighed. “Please ignore him,” he said.

“Was planning on doing that, yes.” Adam had finished with the straps, but he didn’t actually remove the lifejacket. Ronan could see tiny drops of salty water running down Adam’s abs. He swallowed again. “So,” Adam said, and Ronan was very glad for the excuse to get his eyes back up to meet Adam’s. “You wanted to talk? Is everything okay?”

“Oh, yes.” Ronan cleared his throat. “Peachy.”

“That’s great.” Adam seemed to be waiting. Patiently, with a kind smile in place. The whole thing would be actually easier if he’d been an asshole who didn’t give a shit about what Ronan had to say.

“So,” Ronan began. He paused to check Noah wasn’t drowning or something while he held the lifeguard’s attention—he could see two legs doing some resemblance of artistic swimming, so he figured he was okay. “My brother—the asshole one, not Matthew, bless him—is having a date tonight. So. I’m actually free. And I was, um. Wondering.” What had Noah said? Just ask, right? Adam blinked, but seemed to be set on letting him finish, even if it was pretty obvious Ronan was dying of embarrassment. “Is—Remember when we first met? That first day?” Ronan waited for Adam’s nod to nod back himself. “You asked if I wanted to come to your place? Is that—still on? Like, would you want to? Tonight.”

He shut his mouth. At least, Adam wasn’t laughing at him. That was something, right?

“Sure,” he said. “Let’s have dinner together.” Ronan breathed again.

“Thank God,” Ronan kept breathing—he felt like he’d run a marathon. It was probably because of all the shit Noah had made him do earlier.

“I’ll tell Gillian to go watch a movie or something.”

Ronan hadn’t even thought about the roommate. “Sure. Sure, that’s great. Yeah.” He tried a small smile. It didn’t break his face, so he kept it in place.

“Has he asked you out yet?” Noah yelled, somehow managing to surpass the deafening roar of the waves.

* * *

They met at their regular zebra crossing, but instead of going down to the docks, Adam took him to his flat. Luckily for Ronan, he lived in the ground floor—the building was four stories high with no elevator.

“Please come in,” Adam said as he switched the lights on, showing Ronan to the main room, that was also the kitchen. “Sorry for the mess—I tried shoving everything to the side when I came for lunch earlier, so that your chair would fit, but they _clearly_ didn’t have wheelchairs in mind when they designed this.” Ronan shrugged. He could get to the dining table, so that was fine for him. Did Adam sound a bit nervous or was that Ronan projecting? “Hm. Let me just change out of this wet thing, and I’ll start cooking something, okay?” Adam disappeared into one of the doors, presumably his bedroom. Ronan was trying not to dwell on the fact that Adam’s swimming shorts had been _wet_ , or that he was changing out of those only a door away, but that left him plenty of time to freak out while he checked the odd collection of empty beer bottles that adorned a shelf on top of the TV. “Those are Gillian’s. She’s trying to make this one the summer she drinks more beer in her life, or something like that.” Adam said when he came back, shorts exchanged for a pair of _dry_ jeans that had seen better times. That was a good sign, right? That he felt comfortable enough to invite Ronan into his house, and to wear old clothes around him? That spoke of familiarity, didn’t it? Ronan didn’t have much experience when it came to discerning what was normal and what wasn’t in dates. Or in relationships, for that matter. Kavinsky didn’t count. “Want something to drink? We’ve got—” Adam opened the fridge. “Hm. Beer.”

No, that wasn’t going to work. The fridge door hid Adam from view.

“Hm. I don’t drink. Anymore,” he added, because not doing so felt like lying.

Adam’s head appeared over the door. “That leaves us water. Or milk. And what’s this? Uh—Gillian’s soy orange juice. It’s probably good?”

“Water’s fine.”

“Sure. So. Is pasta okay? I’m not a great cook, so—”

Ronan shook his head. “Anything’s fine.”

“Right.”

Adam put a pot on the stove, and came to sit by Ronan while the pasta cooked. Ronan watched him set a timer on his phone, to let him know when he needed to check back on the food. Ronan’s mom had owned a proper timer, shaped as a tomato.

“So.” Adam laughed lightly, and it somehow made Ronan’s anxiety ease a bit. “I wasn’t really sure you’d ever want to do this? I was a surprise. A nice one,” he added, letting a bit of his accent lace his words.

“What’d you mean?”

“Well.” Adam’s fingers started fiddling with the pepper grinder on the table. “You didn’t come when I first asked you out? I thought you weren’t interested,” he laughed, but Ronan didn’t see what was funny in there.

“I told you I was having dinner with my brother.”

“Uh, yeah, you did. I get that, now. But then I thought that was just an excuse, you know?”

Ronan didn’t.

“Why would you think that?”

“Because you didn’t say we could meet any other time? Like for lunch, or dinner any other night, or just for coffee or whatever—” Adam’s hands finally left the pepper alone. “I guess I was wrong, then. I’m glad.”

Ronan didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t offered an alternative, okay, but wasn’t Adam working all the other times he’d suggested?

He cleared his throat.

“So when are you leaving?” he asked, completely changing the subject.

Adam relaxed back on his chair, and only then did Ronan figure how tense he’d been.

“What do you mean? I’m not—My shift tomorrow starts at six, so—”

“No, I meant—For college.”

“Uh. Right. Of course, sorry. Yes. My classes start the last week of September, actually, but we’ve got this place ‘til the end of the month. So Gillian will be going up earlier and I’ll stay until the first of October.”

“But you’ll miss classes.” Ronan didn’t know much about Adam’s college life—he hadn’t wanted to ask many questions, because he didn’t really want to think too deeply about an Adam who didn’t come down to the beach every day, and also because he preferred if they chattered on just about anything other than _school_ , thank you very much. But, if he knew one thing about it, that was that it was important for Adam.

Adam hummed.

“But it’s just a week at the beginning of the semester, and if I stay here I get full pay and also they would be charging me for the _whole_ month of September at the dorms, even if I slept there only for a week, so it just made sense.”

It did, and Ronan followed, but that didn’t mean it was _right_. Did Adam rehearse that speech every morning in front of the mirror, trying to convince himself or something?

“Well, whatever.” Ronan’s corsage of therapists all agreed to say that Ronan presented self-destructive habits. Of course, then they went on different directions when it came to explaining where _those_ came from—when it was crystal clear to Ronan that it was because he was fucked up, no matter how much you read into it. But his apparent lack of self-preservation didn’t have to extend to his dating life, so he kept his mouth shut. “So that means I’ll still see you around for five-ish weeks, right?”

Adam hummed.

“Well, as long as you stick around that long, sure.”

Ronan snorted. “Yeah, I’m here _at least_ until Christmas,” he said, inadvertedly mocking his doctor’s tone, “so you don’t have to worry about that.”

“Right.” Ronan appreciated the effort it took Adam not to ask about his physical therapy sessions, clearly visible in the pinching of his lips.

“Yeah, so. You’ll just go directly to Cambridge? No stop-over at home or something?” For some reason, what he intended to come out as a _normal conversation_ was shaping up to look like Ronan was about to start counting down the days until Adam’s departure in a calendar, or some shit. Which he totally was, the second he got home that night, but _that_ was not the point. He was trying _not to_ look as a stalker, here.

Adam’s eyes squirted towards the kitchen, and for a second Ronan feared the pasta had erupted in fire or something.

It hadn’t. Adam’s eyes came back. Okay, then.

“I live in Cambridge,” Adam said.

Ronan rolled his eyes. “Yeah _, I know_ , you’ve told me, asshole. I _meant_ —.”

“I know what you meant,” Adam interrupted. He looked different, suddenly. Less sweet. Tense, again. Ronan’s insides twisted because he was somehow fucking this up.

“Um—” Ronan had run out of ideas to bring the conversation back to life—you’d figure _a lifeguard_ would know how to _resuscitate_ stuff, but the night was full of surprises.

He looked around the room, which was indeed full of shit but, apart from that beer bottle collection, it was mostly _useful_ shit. A folding clothesline, two beach umbrellas, a mirror by the main door, Adam’s backpack on an armchair. Ronan supposed it was to be expected, it they had only rented the flat for the summer. But still, Ronan’s room _at the clinic_ spoke more of Ronan than this room spoke of Adam.

If they were by the docks, at least Ronan could go back to painting every time an uncomfortable silence arrived, and the whole thing would stop being awkward.

“Do you guys entertain a lot?” he finally asked, because that’s the only thing he could infer from Gillian’s bottles.

Adam shrugged, and seemed to curl into himself. Ronan thought he looked better out in the sun, and not under that awful yellow bulb that brought out the dryness in his skin.

“Not really.” At least, he answered. Ronan counted that as a victory. “We mostly have Gillian’s friends over, or something. They usually go out after, to have drinks and so on.”

“And you don’t?”

“I’ve usually got work early in the morning, so—”

The conversation died again.

Ronan started chewing his armbands.

“Look,” he said, and he shrugged. Fuck it. “If you didn’t want to hang out, or me to be here, or whatever, just say so, man. It’s whatever. We can do something else. Or, fuck, we don’t have to do anything. Or. Whatever, yeah.”

Adam’s head shot up. “What are you talking about? I _just told you_ I wanted to have dinner with you _the first day we met._ ”

“Well, it’s not fucking working. _Obviously_.”

“Maybe it _would_ work if you just said whatever it is that you’re thinking, instead of holding back.”

“What?”

“You _clearly_ have opinions on everything I’m saying tonight, so why don’t you just share with the class?” Adam lifted his chin. “I thought we were past that brooding-in-silence phase!”

Ronan grit his teeth.

“Yeah, because you must be _dying_ to hear that it looks to me that you hate it here! But don’t worry, because you’ll be leaving soon and you won’t ever have to look back.”

“What the hell are you talking about now?” The timer on Adam’s phone rang just then. Both of them ignored it.

“Everything you say sounds as if you just let _dearest Gillian_ rope you into coming here—she’s apparently having the time of her life while you’re just hanging out with a local cripple!”

Adam stood up. Ronan wished he could do the same.

Adam’s mouth opened, but he didn’t speak. He took a deep breath instead, and finally walked to the stove to turn it off.

“You’re neither local nor a cripple, Ronan,” he said, in a low voice that somehow carried to the dining table.

When Ronan looked at Adam, all he saw was an empty stare. He realized he didn’t know why he’d bothered to come—what the fuck was he even thinking? The cute beach guy was most likely just looking for a summer fling. They’d spoken some, true, but that didn’t really mean anything.

This was not Adam’s house—Ronan had only been invited to the place he was staying for some months. And then he’d be gone, and Ronan would be stuck right there, freezing his balls off in the morning water, as the days grew shorter and schools started somewhere else.

“Yeah,” he said, gripping the wheels in his chair with more force than necessary. “This is not fucking working.”

Adam didn’t try to stop him. He left.

The clinic was not really close by, and he was not in the mood to be hauled into a taxi. The docks it was, then.

He wanted to cry, so he looked directly at the setting sun, in hopes the light would burn the tears out from his eyes. It didn’t quite work, but it made quite a view. Ronan regretted not bringing his sketchbook with him.

What had he thought was going to happen? He didn’t know shit about Adam. He just knew where he worked and what he looked like on swimming trunks. He didn’t even know what he was majoring in, for fucks sake. What were his plans for the future? His ambitions in life? What had even happened back there?

Ronan wanted to punch himself.

He breathed salty air until he started shivering. He supposed he could text Declan to come pick him up, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to know how his own date had gone. Maybe it was _still_ going. No, he was definitely _not_ gonna text Declan.

He started wheeling back, at a pace that was probably like that of snails. Which was fine, because he was not in any rush to get back to the clinic, where only a white, empty bed was waiting for him.

Noah would ask him about it in the morning. Ronan didn’t know if he wanted to tell him what’d happened. Because _nothing_ had happened. What had he expected, anyway? That Adam would bend down and kiss him, or something? And then, what? Five weeks and a teary goodbye, with promises to call every night and plans to spend Christmas together? Yeah, like _that_ would work.

It was probably for the better, anyway.

Ronan should have known better, but whatever. Declan liked to remind him how bad his decision-making skills were, so he’d probably be happy. Or as happy as Declan could be, which was very low on the scale, but that was really not Ronan’s problem.

His arms were sore when he finally reached the clinic’s entrance—that probably meant the following morning’s exercises with Noah would be hellish with pain. He found he didn’t care much. He just wanted to get out of this damn place, get his life back.

The only problem was his former life was fucked up.

He’d just have to create a new one, or something. Which was _fine_ , really. He could do it, no big deal.

He finally had something to talk about with his therapist. Joy. Next Friday’s session was going to be just _great_.

The girl with the night shift at the reception desk waved at him. Ronan made a point to glare at her every evening, but it never seemed to stick. She started making weird things with her hands and even weirder things with her face. That was new. Ronan wondered if she was having a stroke.

He came closer.

“What?” he said, in case he needed to call for help. Surely there was some doctor on call, somewhere? They were at a clinic, after all.

“You’ve got a visitor!” she whispered, surrounding her mouth with her hands so that the whisper carried and became a yell instead. And then she pointed at the waiting area by the cafeteria, where Ronan spotted a familiar sandy mop of hair resting on one of the couches. “He’s been here for an hour at least!” she whisper-yelled again, before Ronan could ask her to just shut the fuck up.

Adam must have heard her, because he turned.

Fantastic. There went Ronan’s hopes of getting to his room unnoticed.

The receptionist was throwing encouraging smiles in his direction—Ronan suppressed a shiver.

Adam stood up. Ronan started his way towards him, to at least escape the girl’s ear range.

“Hi,” Adam said, and sat down again when Ronan finally reached him.

Adam took a plastic container out of his bag.

“Here,” he said. “The pasta was already cooked, so I figured I could bring it to you. Have you eaten yet?” Ronan just crossed his arms in front of his chest. Adam left the container on the table in front of him.

“The fuck you doing here?” Ronan asked.

Adam glanced to the side before his eyes found Ronan’s.

“You were right. I was—lying to myself, I guess. The thing is—I mean, I’ve never really told people about this. At first, because I didn’t want them to know. And then, because I figured they wouldn’t care.” Ronan followed Adam’s fingers as they trailed through his hair. “I hoped going to college was going to be it, you know? I’d leave home and never come back, and I’d make great friends, and I’d have fun. But—” Ronan didn’t like the barren laugh that came after that. “I didn’t know how? I guess. I still don’t, so that’s why I fucked up tonight. I just wanted to apologize for that.”

So fucking what? Cold pasta was going to fix everything, and they’d be friends again?

“I still don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’ve never dated anyone,” Adam said. Ronan found that hard to believe, because, well, you only had to look at him, but Adam’s eyes told him he was not lying.

“I have,” he found himself saying. “It didn’t go well.”

Adam nodded, as if he understood. But he couldn’t, not really, because Ronan had not told him about Kavinsky, or what came before that.

“I’ve just had—hook-ups, I guess? Is that what you call them?” Ronan didn’t know. “So I’ve never had people mad at me because they asked questions and I refused to answer. Or, no, scratch that. I had that, when I was in high school, but I couldn’t answer, back them. I can, now. I want to try, at least. If you’ll let me?”

Ronan wasn’t completely sure he understood what they were talking about. Their date had gone to shit before they’d even started eating, so what was Adam doing here?

It didn’t make any sense.

He swallowed. And then he looked at Adam, at his pinched eyebrows and his wrinkled shirt.

One of his therapists was very adamant that Ronan expressed how he felt. He’d never listened to her before.

“I’m not mad because you didn’t answer my questions,” he said, in what he’d intended to be a soft whisper, but it somehow came out more like a raspy snarl. Well. He cleared his throat. “I’m just not—I don’t think I can do casual. So—yeah. Probably not going to work, anyway.”

“So you don’t want to try?” Adam sounded hurt, and Ronan wanted nothing more than to bring him into his arms and soothe every sore spot in his body. But he didn’t of course, because they hadn’t even _touched_ each other yet, and Ronan wasn’t sure it was worth it to try only to have that stripped away from him come October.

“I’m all kinds of fucked up,” he said.

Adam nodded. “Me too. I’m—There’s a lot of shit in my past. With my dad, and—yeah. I actually want to tell you about it. If you’d listen. I’ve never before wanted to tell anyone about it.”

Ronan could provide a list of at least five therapists for Adam to try, like, at the top of his head. Declan was likely to have more in his phone’s contact list.

“I’ll listen,” Ronan promised, and he let a small smile scape. Adam smiled back.

“Thank you,” he said, and it also sounded like a promise.

Adam produced two metal forks from his bag and opened the food container. Ronan took one of the forks.

“When you leave—” Ronan began, after he’d taken a total of two bites in silence.

“We’ll figure it out. I won’t be that far from here, I can come and visit. I _will_ come and visit. If you still want me to?” Adam stuffed more pasta into his mouth, but not fast enough that Ronan couldn’t see the faint blush in his cheeks.

“Okay,” he said. Adam relaxed onto the cushions on the couch.

Ronan caught a thumbs-up from the receptionist with the corner of his eye. “Should we go up to my room?” he asked.

Adam cracked a smile as he followed his line of sight. “She’s so rooting for us—it’s kinda cute, actually. But, yeah, I’d like to see where you live.”

“Great. Hm. Sure.” Ronan couldn’t forget what Adam had just said about hook-ups. “The elevator is this way.”

Adam took the remaining pasta and followed Ronan with an easy step. He didn’t look nervous at all. Why wasn’t he nervous?

“Are you nervous?” Ronan asked, because Adam had _promised_ he’d answer his questions.

Adam bit his bottom lip while they waited for the elevator doors to open for them.

“Yeah, a little. But in a good way, I think. I mean, I didn’t bring any condoms with me, so I’m hoping you won’t jump me the moment we get into your room. Unless _you_ have some?” he said, and _smiled_ as they both entered the elevator, as if the little shit didn’t perfectly know Ronan’s legs were in no state for jumping at all.

He couldn’t do anything to lessen the red in his cheeks, though.

“I’ll make sure to tell Declan to get me some, next time he offers to do my shopping,” he said, after some coughing to try to bring his train of thought to a different path.

“Declan?”

“My asshole brother,” Ronan clarified. He supposed he hadn’t told Adam his name yet, but it wasn’t _that_ important.

“Oh, shit.”

“What? I was joking. We don’t need condoms for next time, if you don’t want. Or we can get some, but I won’t tell my brother about it. Chill, man. What the fuck.” They’d reached Ronan’s floor, but Adam looked to be hyperventilating so Ronan didn’t make any move to get out of the elevator.

And then Adam laughed.

“What? What’s happening?”

“God, Ronan. I hadn’t realized!” Adam said, still laughing. He was clutching his belly—Ronan took that to mean he _wasn’t_ having a heart attack or something. Which was good, he supposed.

“What, Adam?”

“You know Jordan, right?” Ronan nodded, still confused. He knew Jordan, the annoying lifeguard. He didn’t know how she’d manage to wiggle into his conversation on condoms, though. Those were actually two concepts he really didn’t want to imagine together. “She was in a date, tonight. She’s been texting me non-stop about how great a time she’s having, for the past, like, two hours.”

“Good for her?”

“A _date_ ,” Adam repeated. He was probably not getting enough oxygen to his brain, with so much laughing and all that. Ronan’s therapist was clearly wrong—being happy was _clearly_ dangerous your health. “With this guy named Declan? Blue eyes, apparently. Expensive watch. Ring a bell?”

Ronan growled. He fled the elevator. “Yeah, that’s him.” He rescued his room keys from his pocket. “Fuck,” he said, unlocking the door.

Adam was wiping tears when he entered Ronan’s room. Thanks a lot, Declan.

“I was _not_ expecting that,” Adam said, finally calming down enough so that he could have a look around. Not that there was much to look to, to be fair. Walls, bed, window, bathroom door. Ronan’s discarded socks, possibly unwashed, peeking from behind the half-open closet door. The chair Declan liked to sit in when he came to visit, hidden under dirty laundry so that he considered carefully before coming to visit.

“So. This is it,” he said, cringing internally at the judging look Adam was giving to his laundry. He finally opted for sitting on a corner of the bed.

Adam hummed. “It’s a nice room.”

Ronan scoffed. “It’s a _hospital_ room.”

“Not quite.” Adam’s eyes landed back on Ronan’s, and Ronan felt all his blood leave his face.

“I really don’t have condoms,” he rushed, because he felt it was needed to be said.

Adam smiled. It didn’t look like he was mocking Ronan.

“That’s fine. It’s only our first date, after all. I’ve heard people tend to go slower than that.”

“Do they?” The room was not that big, so they were sitting pretty close. Ronan’s useless legs were practically touching Adam’s knees.

Adam shrugged, and leaned towards Ronan.

“Apparently,” he whispered, but Ronan wasn’t listening anymore.

If he angled himself _just so_ , their lips would touch. Ronan found he wished that to happen, very much.

“Adam?” he called, instead, almost in an echo because he’d forgotten how to breathe.

“Yes?”

Adam’s eyelashes were virtually invisible. Ronan wanted to paint them.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked.

Adam nodded.

Ronan bit his bottom lip.

He brought a hand to Adam’s cheek.

He smiled, because he’d dreamt of this, and filled pages with sketches of those freckles, and it was _nothing_ like having Adam’s skin under his fingertips. It felt like walking barefoot on a wheat field, like diving headfirst in the ocean.

Adam’s breath stuttered.

Ronan closed the gap.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from a haiku by Takahama Kyoshi: in the short summer night / dreams and reality / are the same.
> 
> Please let me know if you liked it! I’m also [on tumblr](https://hklnvgl.tumblr.com/) 💛


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